Secrets Kept: From the Eyes of a Rat
by Mirie
Summary: For three years he was their silent companion. For three years he was privy to their most private secrets and weaknesses. For three years he bid his time, waiting for the chance of escape and deliverance. Here is their story, seen from Peter's perspective
1. Fevered Dreams

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just a lowly trespasser. "The Silmarillion" is owned by the Tolkien estate and Tolkien Enterprises. "Amor Mundi" is owned by Hannah Arendt and was published by Martinus Nijhoff Publishers.

**Author's Notes:** This is a plot bunny that just wouldn't stop pestering me, so I decided to give it a try. "Road to Godric's Hollow" will be updated soon. I'm just doing some tweaking on the latest chapter.

This story is part of the "From the Eyes of a Rat" trilogy, which is basically a retelling of the first three books. Tell me what you think.

As always, many thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

_He chanted a song of wizardry,_

_Of piercing, opening, of treachery,_

_Revealing, uncovering, betraying._

_Then sudden Felagund there swaying_

_Sang in answer a song of staying,_

_Resisting, battling against power,_

_Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,_

_And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;_

_Of changing and of shifting shape,_

_Of snares eluded, broken traps,_

_The prison opening, the chain that snaps._

_Backwards and forwards swayed their song._

- _from "The Lay of Leithian" in J.R.R. Tolkien's _The Silmarilion

The smallest act in the most limited circumstances bears the seed of the same boundlessness and unpredictability; one deed, one gesture, one word may suffice to change every constellation…though we don't know what we are doing when we are acting, we have no possibility ever to undo what we have done… The possible redemption from the predicament of irreversibility is the faculty of forgiving, and the remedy of unpredictability is contained in the faculty to make and keep promises… Without being forgiven, released from the consequences of what we have done, our capacity to act would, as it were, be confined to one single deed from which we could never recover….

_- Hannah Arendt, from "Labor, Work and Action" in _Amor Mundi.

Chapter 1 

**Fevered Dreams**

1 November 1981 

There was a festive mood in the air. Despite the bleak weather, wizards and witches were celebrating in the streets, taking no heed of the International Statute of Secrecy. Ignoring the disbelieving stares of Muggles, the magical community ventured out into the open without even bothering to don Muggle apparel. They went alone, in pairs, and in groups, singing, laughing, drinking, and even hugging strangers. Owls flew from place to place, some to spread the good news, others asking if it were true. For the first time in a decade, the Magical Community was able to breathe freely without needing to look over its shoulder, checking every so often for that nameless menace. 

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was _gone._

In the midst of a bustling street, a man hurried through the crowds, as if running away from someone. Not paying the slightest attention to where he was going, he blindly rushed into countless pedestrians. 

"Hey you! Watch where you're going!" a voice called after him.

But the man seemed to be walking in a daze, completely unaware of his surroundings. He would only break out of his stupor every now and then to glance furtively around him, making sure that he was not being followed. 

It had started to drizzle. People started taking out their umbrellas while others hurried to find shelter, but the man simply continued on his way. _What's a little rain, compared to what they could do to me, _he thought. _Rain never killed anyone._

He turned into a corner, and the sight that greeted him nearly gave him a heart attack. 

"Hello, Peter. Fancy meeting you here. Where are you off to?" said Sirius Black, his voice oddly monotonous. 

Peter Pettigrew felt an icy cold seep into his gut. "Hello, Sirius. I was just out for a walk, and…"

"Did you hear about Voldemort?" the other man cut in.

Peter visibly recoiled. "Y-yes, I did. They're saying he's gone, and…"

Sirius moved closer, like a wolf moving in for the kill. "And he took James and Lily with him. Oh, don't worry, Harry's still alive." He was standing right in front of him now, so close that Peter could smell his stale breath, tinted with a hint of firewhiskey. "Where were you last night, _Wormtail?"_ Sirius spat out.

Peter took a tentative step back. "I w-was home, preparing my stuff, and…"

"Oh, yes, I knew you were at home. I knew you were preparing to go into hiding, just like the rest of us. Imagine my surprise when I went to your house and saw that no one was home. Imagine my astonishment when upon entering I saw that you were not packing at all. And imagine my _horror,_" Sirius said, his face only inches away from Peter's. "When I realized just who the spy was, and that I handed James and Lily to him on a silver platter."

Peter felt his sweat dripping down his head and down his back. His hands were shaking and he could barely breathe. A moment of indecision paralysed him, but he knew he must act quickly. He just needed a split second to escape, just a moment…

There! Sirius shook his head in an effort to keep the rain away from his eyes. It took just a couple of seconds, but it was enough. Peter bolted, away from Sirius and into the street, hoping to blend into the throng of Muggles. He could hear Sirius' pounding footsteps in his wake, barely catching him but managing to keep up.

_I need to find a deserted alley, someplace I could Apparate, _he said to himself. He bumped into a women carrying a bag full of fruits, scattering them on the pavement. 

"Damn!" he heard Sirius shout. Peter spared a moment's glance and saw Sirius glide unceremoniously in the street, stepping on a handful of oranges.

_Just find an alley, any alley,_ he chanted to himself. He ran through the crowds, left, right, right, left, and another left. He felt like he was running around in circles, every corner looking like the first. Laughter flowed out from a pub, mocking him in his plight. Strangers were looking at him, their glares accusing him and condemning him. 

_Don't be so paranoid,_ he chided himself. __

He now found it hard to breathe. Feeling a stitch burn his left thigh, he slowed down to a manageable walk. Glancing behind him to see if Sirius was still at his heels, he only saw countless Muggles doing whatever it was Muggles did. 

_Thank God_, he said to himself. He leant against a wall, struggling to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, letting the rain wash over him. He stayed there for a minute, a second, or an hour. Time no longer has any meaning for him. 

"Now did you really think that you could run away from me that easily?"

Peter slowly opened his eyes. Sirius Black was standing menacingly in front of him. He looked to his left but saw that a high brick wall blocked this way. _Think,_ he told himself. _You've escaped worse scenarios. You can get through this._

"You're not going to kill me, Sirius," he told the taller man, stalling for more time. Keeping eye contact with Sirius, he moved his hand towards his pocket, where his wand was hidden.

Sirius gave a hollow laugh. "Oh, you think?" he said unemotionally.

Peter slowly edged to his right, towards the open street. "No, you're not going to kill me in front of all these Muggles," he whispered. He gave a surreptitious glance around the street: a Muggle pub, several boutiques, a flower shop, and a grid. _A grid that led rainwater into the sewers_…

_The sewers. _A plan was starting to form in his mind. _Stay calm, now, _he told himself.

Sirius was advancing on him, his right hand inside his robes. _Holding his wand._

Peter set his plan into motion. Keeping his eyes trained on Sirius, he moved towards the street. Inside his robe, his wand was now cutting off a finger. _Well, who could have thought that the Cruciatus is actually good for something?_ he thought as he tried to keep an expressionless façade.

He waited until he was in the middle of the street before he called out, "Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?"

He immediately whipped out his wand and softly muttered, "Trucidare!" 

The spell caused a massive explosion, a scorching ball of heat that spread outwards. He heard a woman scream in pain. In the midst of the chaos caused by the spell, hidden by smoke and debris, he dropped his severed finger on the street and changed into his Animagus form. As he transformed, he could see Sirius moving through the haze, his hands reaching out to grab him. 

He could smell blood, its metallic scent mixing with the sweet fragrance of tulips. _Lilies. _Sirius was laughing hysterically.Peter rushed towards the grid and into the sewers, entering the welcoming darkness and the solitude it offered.

Deep inside the bowels of the earth, he could still hear his friend's maniacal laughter.

***

_Laughter erupted around him, raucous and youthful peals of mirth. A warm reassuring hand clasped his shoulder. He turned around, a smile on his face, but no one was there. The Gryffindor common room stood bare before him. The furniture, old and dilapidated, was falling apart. The fire, far from being a source of warmth and comfort, looked menacing with its tall and wild flames. _

_He turned towards the spiral staircase, moved towards the familiar dormitory. The door opened into an old bedroom, his old bedroom. His bed, his toys, his photographs, everything was there though a thick layer of dust covered all. A spider web hung in the centre of the room, acting as a barrier between him and the door. Faint smells emanated from beyond that door, scents from his past: lamb stew, mashed potatoes, and chocolate pudding. _

_ He could hear someone humming, singing from below. The gentle voice, a woman's voice, represented security and unconditional love. How he longed for that voice, to bask in the genuine warmth it brought. How he longed for caresses of days long gone, for the soft nurturing hands of yesteryear. _

_Hysterical laughter followed him as he moved towards the barrier. He fumbled about his robes for his wand, but the familiar piece of wood was not there. He used his hands to separate the sticky threads. Some clung to his hands, giving them an ethereal tint. _

_He slowly opened the door with his clammy hands. The vacant Gryffindor common room stood before him, mocking him._

_Maniacal laughter echoed around him, reverberating in the lifeless room. _

***

Water dripped incessantly from above. The overpowering stench assaulted his senses, turning his world into a hazy mist of human waste. He fought the urge to vomit. He scampered along, looking for an escape from this hellhole. His body ached all over and the wound on his hand throbbed painfully. The sewer rats were wary of him, aware that he was far from being an ordinary rat. Some fled from him, while others, perhaps the alpha males, were more aggressive. Thankfully, none had bitten him. _Yet. _

Despite the muck and the vermin, the sewers brought him a certain amount of comfort and made him somewhat at ease. Steeped in this dark solitude, without time and space to guide him, he felt a sense of freedom. Nothing existed except for him, and he could do anything he wanted. Nothing hounded his every move nor demanded to know his very being. The Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters meant nothing. 

He lost track of time. The concept seemed absurd in this world, where everything flowed yet nothing changed. How could one monitor the passing of days in a world where seconds could stretch for an eternity?

He could no longer go on. His numb hand had started to emit a reeking yellow substance. _Pus. _He felt weary and longed for the bliss of sleep. _Dreamless sleep._ How he hated his dreams, his nightmares. How they haunted him and taunted him in his slumber, showing him the utopia of the past and the terrors of today. And that laughter, that _incessant _laughter, pursuing him even in dreams and filling his subconscious. 

_No, I will not sleep. Not yet, _he thought. 

***

_Dark figures surrounded him. Phantoms with white faces. Someone somewhere was laughing. He tried to move away, but his body refused to cooperate. He tried to look away but he could not even move his head. _

_The laughter grew louder, making his ears hurt. He felt a warm liquid flow out of his ears. Using all his strength, he forced his hands up to his face and towards his ears. _Blood. 

_The figures moved closer. He felt suffocated and trapped. There was nowhere left to go. A blinding green light began to envelop him. _

_"There is no escape," a raspy voice taunted him._

_The laughter still did not stop._

***

Peter woke up with a start, his body shivering uncontrollably. _I cannot stay here anymore. I would just die here, _he thought. He forced his tender body to move and slowly made his way through the sewers. He kept his eyes open, alert for any possible exit. Eventually he found one, an opening that led to a busy street. 

The sun had already fallen, though people still bustled about. He dodged through muggles and automobiles. A few cars nearly ran over him.  The place looked vaguely familiar, though he was unsure of his exact location. __

Tentatively, he ventured out. Every now and then he would see a familiar shop or pub, though he still felt disoriented. He wove through the streets of the city with no definite destination in mind. 

_What if I'm going around in circles? _

The chilly air seeped through his skin, numbing his senses. He was becoming light-headed, due either to hunger or to his untreated wound. Scanning the area, he saw a nearby restaurant and hurried towards it. He scampered towards an adjacent alley, and his eyes lit upon an overflowing trash receptacle. 

Using his acquired rat skills, he expertly scaled the tall bin. Putrid scents and food in various states of decay welcomed him. He fought the urge to gag as he burrowed deeper into the bin, in search of something still edible. _Anything edible._ He eventually settled on day-old leftover spaghetti. As he nibbled on the noodles, he felt hot tears form behind his eyes.  _No, I will not cry_, he told himself. _I will not allow myself to cry._

The meal, though not fully satiating him, did give him enough energy to continue his trek around the city. He manoeuvred through the streets, hoping to see something he recognized. After a good couple of hours of searching, just when he was ready to give up, he saw a place he knew. Situated between a book shop and a record store was a small, grungy inn. _The Leaky Cauldron. _He almost wept in relief. He squeezed his way in through the small space in between the door and the frame. 

Despite the dark and shabby interior, people filled every available space in the pub. _It's just like a party in here,_ he thought. Witches and wizards, some more sober than others, drank and talked merrily. Singing could be heard from the far corner while an odd company of hags and dwarves played cards near the door. He scanned the room and saw a few familiar faces. _Dedalus Diggle, Mundungus Fletcher, and, _the room spun around him, _Remus Lupin._

Should he risk it? He could hide beneath the table, or he could stay near the walls. What are the odds that Remus would glance down and see him in this retched lighting, especially in his current state of sobriety? Besides, if there was one thing he was good at, that was sneaking around. Careful to not draw attention to himself, he moved through the tables towards the Order members. 

"When do you reckon the trials will be?" Dedalus asked his companions.

Remus took a sip of firewhiskey before answering. "Well, Karkaroff's trial begins next Monday."

"Have you 'eard? Sirius ain't gettin' a trial," the red-faced Mundungus spoke up. "Crouch just made the statement."

"Just what he deserves," muttered Remus.

Dedalus glanced at Remus uneasily. "I thought he was your friend."

"So did I," Remus answered testily. 

"I still can't believe tha' Sirius was the traitor," Mundungus slurred. "He an' James was like brothers. An' he hates those Death Eaters."

Peter could not resist from going closer. _Well, this certainly is an interesting conversation._

"But he did turn," Remus answered. "He betrayed James and Lily, not to mention killing a dozen muggles. And he killed Peter," he finished, his voice laced with pain.

Peter could have laughed. _Poor little Padfoot. Always sticking his mangy nose where it's not wanted, now getting more than he deserves._

Dedalus sighed. "Poor Pettigrew. He should've known that he couldn't take on Black. He had no chance."

Peter sat up indignantly. _What do you mean, I had no chance?_

Remus nodded. "Poor Peter. He was a true Gryffindor." He raised his drink. "To Peter Pettigrew, wherever he may be."

The two men raised their glasses. "To Peter."

Somewhere below them, a rat chortled gleefully. 

***

He needed a new home. He could no longer stay at the Leaky Cauldron, for Tom was a neat freak with a mission against pests. Going home to his mother was no longer an option, especially if he wanted people to believe that he was truly dead. More importantly, he needed to stay at a wizarding home in order to be aware of current events. _And of news regarding the Dark Lord_, he mentally added.

He could pose as a pet. _How, though? _He could try to sneak into the Magical Menagerie, though he didn't know how he could slip into the rats' cage. Plus, he was obviously different from the sleek black rats the store sold. The proprietor would only throw him out once she noticed. 

Engrossed in his dilemma, Peter did not notice the pair that sat at the table he was currently hiding under. He barely stifled his high-pitched shriek as a booted heel stepped on his tail. He was contemplating the merits of biting the rude man's ankle when he heard a voice speak up.

"Dad? Can I please get a new pet while we're here?" a boy asked.

The father, presumably, sighed audibly. "We'll see, son. First, we need to buy the baby's medicine."

Peter carefully edged his way to the corner. _Isn't that Arthur Weasley? I guess they'll have to do._

He patiently waited for the pair to finish their meal, and surreptitiously followed them across Diagon Alley. They were headed for the Apothecary. As Arthur went to consult with the proprietor, his son opted to explore the shop.

_Now is my chance._

Peter rushed through the various jars and barrels, aiming to intercept the boy. As the child turned around a corner, he came face to face with a grey rat. _I do hope you aren't the squeamish type, _Peter thought.

The little boy moved closer. "Hello there, Mister Rat," the child whispered. 

Peter stood on his hind legs. _Now, aren't I just the smartest rat you've seen?_

The child smiled. "What other tricks can you do?"

Peter cocked his head to the side.

"Doesn't matter," the child murmured. "I can teach you. Do you want to come with me?"

Peter nodded. _Now that's a good little boy._

The boy held out his hand and Peter jumped into it. "By the way, I'm Percy Weasley."

* "Trucidare" means to slaughter, demolish or destroy.


	2. Changing of Hands

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his universe were created by JK Rowling. I'm just visiting for a while.

Thanks to **Bryonia Alba, Aeryn Alexander, kikei, webba **and **Ajax** (you wonderful FA people) for the lovely reviews.

To those reading **Road to Godric's Hollow**, the chapter's already done and is already with my beta.

Thanks to **Black Angel**¸ my ever helpful beta.

**Chapter 2**

**Changing of Hands**

 For ten years, the Wizarding World had acquired a semblance of peace and order, a far cry from the atmosphere of the previous decade. At first, a few disturbances broke out when random Death Eaters, still in denial over their lord's disappearance, wreaked havoc in the countryside. The worst incident was the Longbottoms' torture at the hands of four fanatical Death Eaters, who were quickly captured and sent to Azkaban. But not all Death Eaters were apprehended. More than a few had managed to obtain deals with the Ministry of Magic, bargaining vital information about the Dark Lord and his followers for their freedom. Some of the more affluent used less conspicuous methods of securing their freedom, like giving massive donations to various Ministry departments and officials. Others vehemently denied any role they may have had, either insisting that they have been victims of the Imperius Curse or maintaining that they were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

As the months passed, the furore slowly died down. People were soon caught up in trying to rebuild their lives, re-establishing old routines and habits. The public has a short attention span, and the Wizarding Community showed that they were much eager to move on and forget about the Days of Terror. Soon politics and turnovers held precedence in the Ministry, and citizens once again became obsessed with Quidditch. 

The legend of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, grew over time. Nobody knew where he was, and those who did said nothing. But rumours abound, spreading from one Wizarding home to another. Most believed that Muggle relatives took him in, but all attempts to find him ended in failure. A few had bragged about meeting him in the street or in Muggle shops, but all of these claims were unfounded. As a result, the mystery of the Boy Who Lived, which grew out of his defeat of You-Know-You, was amplified. Children everywhere regarded him as their role model, while adults viewed him as their saviour. Everyone anxiously awaited his return to the Wizarding World, expecting great things from him.

But underneath the secure and peaceful façade laid an unnamed terror, a secret fear that perhaps _He_ isn't really gone. Though they desperately wanted to believe that You-Know-You has truly been vanquished, the nagging doubt that _He_ might possibly be just waiting for the right time to strike again cannot be ignored. Thus witches and wizards everywhere shunned _His_ name, refusing to utter it for fear that doing so might bring _Him_ back. And they waited, wary for any sign of _His_ return. Every news and rumour of terrorism and violence were regarded as proof of _His _immortality. But gradually, inevitably, people became complacent and dropped their guard and _He _eventually became nothing more than a myth, a frightening entity parents used to scare their children into obedience. 

***

The rays of the early morning sun sifted through the window. Frayed blue curtains swayed in the gentle breeze and the aroma of sizzling sausages and fried eggs seeped through the open panes. He slowly inhaled and enjoyed the silence, for he knew that it wouldn't last long. 

Life in the Burrow, the Weasley residence, was anything but silent and predictable; rather, its inhabitants observed a strict routine of chaos. Well, all but one. 

Percy was certainly the oddball of the family. Unlike his fun-loving brothers and sister, he took his studies a bit too seriously. If Bill, the eldest Weasley, achieved his top marks from his innate intelligence, Percy achieved his from intense and constant studying. In contrast to the rest of the house, whose main theme was disorderly charm, Percy's room was immaculate. He had even organized his books alphabetically and kept his clothes colour-coordinated. 

Percy usually lived life by the book, and Peter knew of only one instance when the boy deliberately ignored the rules. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry clearly specified that the only pets allowed were cats, toads and owls, yet Percy disregarded this and brought Scabbers with him. They were eventually found out by no less than Minerva McGonagall, but Percy somehow managed to persuade both her and the Headmaster to allow Scabbers to stay, provided that Percy took full responsibility for the rat. 

_Scabbers_. Why couldn't the boy have thought of a better name? To be fair, he did look a bit worse for wear when the boy met him at Diagon Alley. His bones jutted out from under his coat, and his grey coat, far from the sleek black covering of other rats, made him appear old and sickly. His paw had an unsightly scab on it, on the space where his finger used to be. When the twins saw the wound, they immediately dubbed him "Scabby ratty." Unfortunately for him, the nickname stuck, and eventually evolved into "Scabbers." 

Peter hated to admit it, but he had grown rather fond of Percy. Truth be told, the teenager could be a bit boring and prudish at times, but Percy had a kind heart and a determined spirit. He often gave Peter, rather _Scabbers_, table food whenever Molly Weasley wasn't looking, and even let him eat a few sweets now and then. The boy has also taken to confiding into Scabbers, telling him his desire to be the youngest Minister for Magic, and oftentimes bemoaning the twins' pranks (which were, more often than not, directed at him). Percy vented out his frustrations to his pet, about how his wealthier classmates mocked his threadbare robes and second-hand books, and how the pureblood students called his family a disgrace to the Wizarding world. __

**BOOM!**

A loud explosion rocked the house, shaking its very foundations. A disgruntled Percy shot up in his bed, woken by the blast. Snow-like debris fell from the ceiling onto his hair, making him look like he suffered from a bad case of dandruff. Peter's whiskers twitched as he fought to suppress his squeaky laughter.

"Sometimes I wonder if I really am related to those insufferable, inconsiderate gits," Percy muttered to himself as he gingerly got up. The teen glanced towards the rat, and gave it a small smile. "Good morning, Scabbers. Did the twins wake you? Come on, let's see what on for breakfast." 

Percy took Scabbers into his hand, and they made their way downstairs. Almost every member of the family was already in the kitchen. Molly Weasley bustled about in her pink apron, serving plates piled with sausages, eggs and toast. A sleeping Ron sat with his head on the table, and beside him sat a chipper Ginny. Percy hurriedly sat next to his brother, placing Scabbers on top of his lap and away from his mother's eyes. Scabbers settled down, listening to the family's early morning chatter.

"Morning, Percy!" greeted the youngest Weasley.

"Good morning mum, Ginny. Where's dad?" Percy asked as he took his plate from his mother.

"He had to go down to work early. Something about talking brooms down in Devon," Molly answered. "And Ginny, do wake your brother up. He's getting eggs all over his head."

Just then, the twins came bounding down the stairs. Fred and George were covered with what appeared to be pink slime. Ginny snorted into her milk and Peter felt Percy shake with suppressed laughter. The rat sat up straighter. _This should be good, _he thought as he watched Molly turn around and face the twins. _Pink and red definitely don't match._

"Just what, exactly, have you two been up to?" screamed an incensed Molly. Peter watched as Ron woke up with a jolt, suddenly sitting straight with eggs clinging to one side of his face.

"Mum -," one twin began, though Peter had no idea which one. He never could tell those two apart, even after living almost ten years with them.

"Explosions at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning!"

"Mum –,"

"Almost knocked the house down! If it weren't for those extra wards your father put up, I can't imagine what would have happened!"

"Mum, we -,"

"Waking up everyone within a five-mile radius, what would the neighbours think?"

"But we don't have any!" one twin finally managed to blurt out. 

"Mum, we can't get this muck out!" the other twin loudly wailed.

Peter, or Scabbers, gave out a squeaky laughed which was thankfully drowned out by Ginny's laughter. Even Molly could not resist a small smile at her sons' display. The two teenagers were however spared from their mother's retort by the sound of a loud rapping against their window. Peter strained up to see the cause of the disturbance, and saw two owls perched against the sill

"Owl post!" Percy exclaimed, a bit excitedly. The teenager cleared his throat, amidst his sister's snickers, and muttered, "My throat's a bit itchy today." 

Molly hurried to open the window and let in the birds. Peter hid himself inside the folds of Percy's pyjamas, away from the view of the wily owls. For some reason, Errol had never warmed up to the Animagus, and has even tried to eat Scabbers on several occasions. The owl may be older now, but its ears were sharp as ever. Peter could almost see the owl twitch,something it did every time the rat was someone in its vicinity. 

Molly freed the owls of their packages, and the younger barn owl quickly flew away as the family owl settled on his perch. "Your letters from school are here," she announced to the room. "And there's a letter for Percy here."

Peter fell unceremoniously to the floor when Percy abruptly stood to get his letter from his mother before the twins did. The rat was however saved from becoming an owl's meal by Ron, who immediately scooped Scabbers up into his lap. 

"Ooh, Percy's got himself a pen pal," teased Fred, or maybe George.

"Oh hush, you. Here, get your letters," admonished their mother as she handed them their book lists and school notices. "Your letter's a bit thick, Percy dear. Must be a longer book list because of the OWLs," Molly murmured as she handed Ron and Percy their respective envelopes.

Percy hurriedly ripped the thick parchment and scanned through the various contents, until he reached one. "Mum," he excitedly called out. "I've been made a prefect!"

Peter cringed at Molly's loud and very painful shriek. That woman could out scream a banshee, and her shrieks were as dangerous as a siren's call. "Oh how wonderful, dear! A prefect! Another prefect in the family, just like Bill and Charlie! Oh, Percy, I'm so proud of you, dear! And with your marks, you could be Head Boy in two years!"

The other children laughed hysterically in the background, the twins making gagging noises as Molly covered her son's face with kisses. Percy seemed oblivious to his mother's actions; his eyes were trained on the scarlet badge and he had a dreamy smile on his face. 

Molly suddenly broke off. "Oh, your reward, dear! What will it be? Bill opted for new robes, and Charlie for a broom-servicing kit. How about you?" 

Percy suddenly looked serious. "Mum, I can't really ask for anything. We don't have much…"

"Hush, you," she cut in. "Don't be ridiculous. We'll manage. Now, what do you want? How about some new robes, hmm? I noticed that a couple of yours are a bit frayed."

"I'd like that." Percy glanced at the wheezing owl. "But an owl also sounds good. I mean," he glanced at his mother. "Errol's getting a bit old, he can't handle longer trips anymore, and I have my own correspondences now…"

"An owl's fine," Molly told him.

Percy hesitated. "No, mum, robes are fine. Besides, I really need new clothes."

"Tell you what, we'll buy you a new owl. If there's any money left, then we'll see about those new robes," Molly said.

The twins and Ron burst into loud complaints. "Unfair! How come Percy gets new robes and a new owl?" one twin protested. 

"How come Percy gets to keep two pets while you won't even let me have a toad?" Ron grumbled. 

"Percy gets to have an owl and possibly new robes on account of his becoming a prefect and his exceptional marks last term," Molly told the twins. She turned to Ron, "You, on the other hand, get to keep Scabbers."

"Mum! Scabbers has been with me for ten years. I can't just give him to Ron," Percy said.

Molly looked warningly at Percy, and the teenager turned beet red. "Alright. In the spirit of equality, I hereby give my pet, Scabbers, to Ron," declared Percy.

_Don't I have any say on this matter? _Peter wondered as he looked up the despondent face of Ronald Weasley. 

"Go on, eat your breakfasts. We'll need to go to Diagon Alley later to get your things."

***

Peter fought the urge to bite Ron's sweaty hand. The boy held the rat a bit too tightly, his fist clenched around the rodent and making it difficult for the rat to breathe. Peter tried to squirm his way out of the boy's grasp, and Ron, noticing that his pet was about to fall face-first into a roaring fire, decided to put it into his pocket. _Thank Merlin,_ Peter thought as he munched on a piece of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. _Oh, chocolate fudge! Haven't had this one for years. _

 "All set? You go first, Percy," Peter heard Molly urge her son. He snuck his head outside the pocket, and saw a prim Percy, complete with prefect's badge, step into the green fire. 

"Diagon Alley!" 

"Go on," Molly prompted the twins. Soon enough, it was Ron's turn to Floo. Peter hurriedly hid himself again.

"Diagon Alley!" 

Peter felt the familiar disorienting effect of Flooing. His oversized world swam around him, and he fought the urge to gag. If Flooing was bad enough for a person, then it was definitely worse for a rat, for its effects seemed to be increased tenfold. After a few seconds, he felt the boy move forward and land gracelessly on the floor, nearly crushing him in the process. When he felt the world right itself again, he poked his head outside the pocket. The Leaky Cauldron looked as drab as usual. Since there were still three hours to go before lunchtime, there was hardly anyone in the pub. 

Molly quickly ushered them out of the pub and into Diagon Alley. The group first went into Gringotts. Peter again fought the urge to throw up his meal during the cart ride to and fro the Weasleys' vault. He peeked out of the pocket to look into the vault and its meagre contents. It contained only three piles of Sickles, a pile of Knuts, and three Galleons.  He watched as Molly took all the Knuts, almost all the Sickles, and two of the Galleons into her sack, and felt a small twinge of pity for the family. 

"You two are not, under any circumstances, to go into Knockturn Alley," Molly sternly told the twins once they were back outside as she gave them their money. "Ron, Ginny, you two are coming with me. And Percy," Molly turned to give her son the Galleons and a few Sickles. "These are for you, and should be enough to cover for your owl, books and new robes. Meet us back at the Leaky Cauldron at lunchtime."

The three Weasleys, plus Peter, set off to buy Ron's books and other requirements. Ron and Ginny were in an animated discussion, debating whether the Chudley Cannons had a shot at placing in the current season. As they made their way down Diagon Alley, Peter noticed that they passed by Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.  

"Mum! We just passed by Madam Malkin's!" Ron called out.

Molly sighed. "I know, dear."

"But I need new robes! It says so in the letter, see?" Ron pointed to his Hogwarts letter.

"I'm sorry dear, but Bill's old robes would fit you nicely. I'll wash them tomorrow, and they'll be good as new, you'll see."

Ron said nothing as they stopped to buy him some parchment, quills and ink. He remained pensieve as they went straight to the second-hand section of Flourish & Blotts for his books. His mother and sister have both wisely opted to remain silent. It wasn't until they were about to leave Slug & Jiggers Apothecary that he spoke up.

"Mum? What about my cauldron?"

Molly answered in a tired voice. "Charlie's old one is still in working condition, dear. Perhaps you can make do with that one?"

Ron sighed and slumped his shoulders. "Okay," he muttered.

Molly took out an old timepiece and glanced at it. "We still have another hour to go, do you two want to go somewhere?"

Ginny and Ron spoke at the same time.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies!"

"But what about my wand? I can't go to school without one."

Peter suddenly noticed all the lines etched on Molly's forehead and around her mouth. She looked old all of a sudden, as if she aged overnight. 

"You can use Charlie's old wand, Ron."

"Uncle John's old wand? That hardly works anymore, mum!" Ron whined. 

"That's enough complaining from you, young man," Molly snapped. At Ron's stricken expression, she softened a bit. "I'm sorry, Ron, but we'd just have to make do with what we have. I promise that I'll buy you a new wand as soon as we can." 

Despite his mother's attempts at placating him, Ron's mood did not improve. Nor did Percy's new owl, Hermes, and new robes help to brighten him up. He remained sombre all the way home, and Peter was thankful that Ron opted to let Scabbers stay in his pocket. 

Ron went straight to his room when they arrived back home. He flopped heavily down his bed, and Peter scrambled out of the pocket to avoid being crushed by the boy. Peter watched as Ron cried, his tears running unhampered through his cheeks.

"Second-hand books, hand-me-down robes, used cauldron, and useless old rat. Why do I always get the hand-me-downs? It's so unfair! I wish I was born first." Ron finally noticed the rat that was looking up at him. "It's not your fault though, Scabbers."

Peter stood up on his hind legs and cocked his head to the side, one of Percy's favourite tricks. 

"You're not too bad, though." Ron wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Come on, let's eat some Every Flavour Beans, I know I've got some left in my pocket."


End file.
